The Price of Chains
by Lady Golodwen
Summary: My life, the life of a slave, was worth nothing to me at that moment. Had he ordered me to go and pluck a flower for him, I would have valued its existence above my own. But to be a free woman... I knew that I'd do anything for that.


_To whom it may concern:_

_The following is a sort of preview, if you will, of a short story I've recently begun work on. The inspiration behind this piece came to me while reading Susan Kay's Phantom; all the characters (excluding my original characters, of course) will be as true to her portrayal of them as I can come. To be perfectly clear on this, that means no sexy, emerald-eyed Erik for all the phan girls out there. For the record, I do support the occasional movie-esque phic and am, in fact, in the process of writing one called Nothing is as Random as it Seems, which began as a birthday present for my best friend and has since taken on a life of its own, as stories tend to do. This just isn't one of them._

_I'm going to college in the fall and will be working full-time this summer to help finance my education; therefore, I don't want to get involved in writing yet another lengthy fic right now (I already have more ideas than I'll ever be able to get out on paper). If you, the readers, communicate to me a reasonable interest in this short story, however, I'll give it a go._

—_Lady G._

**  
The Price of Chains**

_Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?...  
I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death.  
_—Patrick Henry

—**_Sennuwy_**—

The blood ran cold in the veins of every woman in the shah's harem when that first horrible scream shattered the early morning stillness. While the youngest girls cowered on their sleeping mats in terror, nearly every other odalisque raced to see what had happened, some in rumpled nightclothes, others clutching at sheets to cover their nakedness.

In the doorway to her private chamber, which was separated from its adjoining compartment in the women's communal living space by curtains of brocaded silk, stood Farnoush. Her disheveled ebony hair hung unbound about her suntanned shoulders. Her nostrils flared with rage. She was the shah's favorite, just returning from a night in his bed, and she did not much like the surprise she'd found waiting in her own.

Generally speaking, the privilege of separate living arrangements was only accorded to those women to whom the Shah had taken a special liking. Farnoush had moved into this private room nearly two months ago, and no one had been at peace since, except perhaps the very oldest of the slave women that tended the harem, who were past the age of caring what a glorified whore said and did. Most of them had not even bothered to roll over when they heard her angry shrieks.

"FROGS!... _THERE ARE **FROGS** IN MY BED!_"

A few of the women had to stifle a laugh when they saw the richly-colored bedspread hopping with tiny, green frogs. But, when Farnoush rounded on them like a tiger, dark eyes ablaze, tall spine rigid, hands balled into fists, their amusement fled before her wrath. Truth be told, the physical threat she posed to any of them was minimal; but that wasn't what worried them. She was a vain, mean-spirited woman, eager to lash out at anyone that gave her the chance, like a wasp hovering about in search of the most advantageous place to put its stinger. If she wanted a woman destroyed, she would see it done. Had it been a simple matter of putting a spoiled, arrogant concubine in her place, the harem would have crushed her like any other pest. But now that she had the shah himself on her side—and, what's worse, his mother the _khanum—_there seemed to be no stopping her. Until she fell from favor, the only satisfaction the rest of them could get was the occasional practical joke. And most of them were nowhere near so bold as this.

"Who did this? Who put these _things_ in _my_ bed?"she seethed as her eyes roved the crowd, and she waved a long finger at the squirming amphibian mass. "Well? I want an answer!"

Of course, no one was about to confess to the offense, least of all the guilty party. Whoever had done this could hardly have managed it alone, or else it would have taken most of the night just to collect the little creatures from the palace gardens. Nevertheless, just as it seemed that Farnoush might actually do the world a favor and vaporize in the heat of her own fury, a lanky 16-year-old with a face that seemed too round for her body spoke up.

"It was Sennuwy," she said. "I saw her!"

A murmur rose from the crescent of women gathered around Farnoush. As for Farnoush herself, she glared past them as if they were no more than a bunch of shrubs, looking very much like one of the royal cats staring across the garden at an unsuspecting bird. At that moment, you see, another girl was just entering the room at its far end, unaware of the perilous turn that the conversation had taken in her direction.

I was that girl. I was Sennuwy.

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The second I laid eyes on Farnoush, I realized that something had gone wrong—not because she was glowering at me, but because of all the women gathered around her with astonishment and confusion etched on their beautiful faces. In fact, it was perfectly ordinary for Farnoush to look on me with nothing less than pure loathing, although I'd no idea what I had ever done to make her hate me so. Even when she smiled at me, if you could call it a smile, there was something sickly about the expression... probably because it never agreed with the one in her eyes.

"_You,_" she hissed with bone-chilling malice. "I should have known."

Instinct told me to put as much distance between her and myself as possible, so I backed immediately down the arched hallway I'd just passed through, into the chamber beyond.

"Oh, no," she exclaimed as she started after me, "you aren't going anywhere!" She was taller than me, and her long legs traced my footsteps swiftly.

In my haste, I stumbled backward over a basket of clean linen. "Whatever Guisa said," I cried out in desperation, for I had heard the older girl's accusation, "I didn't do it!"

"Liar!" screamed Farnoush. "You're a filthy, sneaking, lying little thief, you are! Last week, you stole my pearls, and now you've put frogs in my bed!"

In fact, it was a very serious accusation. An odalisque could be put to death for leaving the seraglio unattended and without permission; the least such an infraction would probably earn was a severe beating. Although it struck me as foolish for physical punishment to be dealt to a concubine in this way, lest it should diminish her aesthetic value, I knew of one girl named Kshitij that was once caught sneaking into the palace gardens to meet her sister, whom she had been separated from when they were very young. Somehow or other, the sister had learned of Kshitij's... _circumstances _and sent her a message through one of the slaves that tended the gardens. I knew this because I was the one that tended to Kshitij after she'd been wrapped in blankets (to prevent scarring) and beaten with wooden rods until she was bruised and swollen beyond recognition.

In this case, it seemed that none of the palace guards would have to be bothered with beating me, as Farnoush seemed more than willing to do it for them. I suppose some of the other slaves must have come to observe the spectacle, but I was aware only of her hot breath on my skin and the talon-like fingers twisting in my hair as she bent over me, wrenching my head harshly to one side, shouting down into my face, "You stupid, _stupid_ girl! Do you want me to kill you? because that's what will happen if you _ever_ cross me again..."

And so, it took me completely by surprise when I heard a very different voice exclaim, "_Allah!_ Farnoush, release her at once."

I didn't see the woman approach, because Farnoush still had a death grip on my hair and I could not move my head; but I would have known that voice anywhere. It was Marzieh.

A smooth, deceptively slender hand seized Farnoush's wrist, and I heard her cry out in pain or shock or both. The next thing I knew, I was standing, and Farnoush was the one on the floor. Marzieh stood between us, just as tall and curvaceous as I was slim and petite—taller even than Farnoush, who would have been disinclined to tussle with her on any day, no matter how angry she was. Relief came over me so strongly that I'm sure I nearly fainted. Perhaps this was not over yet, but with Marzieh here, I knew that everything would be alright. I had not yet learned to know any different.


End file.
